


small moments, small things

by 100demons



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: Takes place during Episode 6.
  Victor promptly sprawls all over Yuri’s lap the minute he settles into the seat, pressing the edge of his nose into the narrow crease of Yuri’s hip.





	

Celestino looks practically boneless, magnificent mane of hair pooling in a loose cloud around his head as he leans heavily against Phichit’s slight shoulders, mumbling a string of unintelligible Italian phrases. 

“Maledetto russo!” Celestino shouts suddenly, the momentum of his exclamation carrying him forward and nearly head-first into the puddle on the sidewalk. Phichit only saves him with a luckily-timed grab around the waist, hauling him back upright, miraculously managing to avoid being elbowed by one of Celestino’s flailing arms. 

 _Mostly_ unintelligible Italian, Yuri thinks darkly, as he deals with his own problem. Victor blows a happy spit bubble in Yuri’s ear, long arms coiling around his waist like a clingy octopus. 

“Gross,” Yuri mutters, without much heat. 

The driver of the idling Didi car honks, sharp and impatient, as Yuri slowly creeps over to the door, a half-naked Victor hanging off of his back. It takes a very long second for Yuri to pry the handle open (“Victor, that _tickles_!”), peel Victor off his back (“Ow, ow, stop grabbing my shirt!”), shove him as quickly as possible into the backseat (“No, no, put your pants back on!”), and slide in after him. 

Victor promptly sprawls all over Yuri’s lap the minute he settles into the seat, pressing the edge of his nose into the narrow crease of Yuri’s hip. His breath is soft against Yuri’s trousers, fluctuating in warmth with every steady rise and fall of his chest. The inside of the car is dimly lit, illuminated only by the glowing green time blinking on the car’s dashboard, the streetlights filtering through the dusty patterns on the glass windows. A slant of sodium yellow light highlights the long line of Victor’s leanly muscled back, the constellation of moles limning the curve of his right shoulder. 

Lightly, Yuri traces the ridges of Victor’s spine with a finger, following the familiar divots and valleys he’s come to learn slowly over the past few months. Victor Nikiforov is made of small moments, small things, Yuri thinks: a faint scar running in parallel to a rib from a collision with another skater when Victor was ten; a small birthmark shaped like a trailing comma hovering just above the waistband of his jeans; the flash of golden blades cutting cleanly against ice after a perfectly executed jump. 

All of it impossibly, improbably, exquisitely all too real. 

There’s a sharp rap on the window and Yuri jerks his head up, glasses nearly flying off his face. 

Phichit is looking down at him, a sly grin slowly spreading over his face. He’s mouthing something, but it’s too dark to tell what exactly. Yuri squints up at him, pressing down on the button to lower the window. 

“--looks like you two will have a fun ride home,” Phichit says, looking as if he’s trying to drily raise one eyebrow and failing miserably. Both of his eyebrows are delightedly trying to merge with his hairline in an expression of pure mischief. He’s holding his phone in one hand, the angle faintly ominous. “Thank goodness the kids left before it got too much for them.” 

“...You know that I’m three years older than you,” Yuri points out. “You just turned twenty a few months ago.” 

“Did you see the look on Guang-hong’s face when Victor started stripping? I don’t think he’ll ever recover from that,” Phichit says airily, completely ignoring Yuri’s comment. “Though it was good of him to call the car for you before he left with Leo.” He flashes a grin at Yuri and Yuri’s heart practically grows three sizes. 

“It was really good seeing you!” Yuri blurts out abruptly, fighting down the urge to clap one hand over his mouth right after. It helps that Victor’s clutching possessively to an arm. 

“Oh,” Phichit says. “Yuri, you _have_ changed.” He ducks in closer, leaning against the frame of the door. This close, Yuri can just make out the white flash of Phichit’s teeth against his brown face. “I missed you too. Detroit’s not the same without you there, especially our Friday movie nights. The rink is so quiet without you there...but...” 

Phichit’s gaze darts down and Yuri reflexively follows it, his eyes catching on the silver fall of Victor’s hair, stark against the dark blue of his trousers. 

“I think he’s been a good kind of change for you,” Phichit says thoughtfully. “It sounds crazy, it looks even weirder, but…I feel like Victor Nikiforov is just the right kind of coach that you need.” Phichit smiles down at Yuri and draws back gracefully, tapping a fist lightly against the car. “Ah, I probably shouldn’t hold you up any longer. Your driver’s getting mad at me.” 

The Didi driver lifts his surly elbow off the horn, cutting off the noise as he casually flicks the ash off his cigarette in one easy motion. 

“Oh, what about you and Celestino?” Yuri cranes his neck out the window, catching the barest outline of Celestino sitting heavily on the curb, holding his head in his hands. He looks on the verge of throwing up or crying or passing out-- maybe even all three at once. 

“Don’t worry about me and Ciao Ciao,” Phichit practically twinkles at him and Yuri immediately thinks of all the horrible hashtags Phichit has probably come up with by now: #drunkciaociao #2ciao2much #ciaoyonara. “Guang-hong texted me saying that he’ll figure something out for me too.” 

Phichit raises a hand in the air in farewell, drawing his black surgical mask up with his other hand. “I’ll see you on the ice tomorrow, Yuri! Sawasdee krab.” 

Yuri barely has enough time to wave back before the car starts up and hurtles down the streets, the wind whipping wildly through the open window. Beijing at night is a blur of colors and smoke and light, centered around the warm press of Victor’s presence in Yuri’s lap. 

This time last year Yuri was falling asleep on a plane, alone, flying back to Detroit from Skate Canada, exhausted and terrified and hopeful all at the same for the slim sight of Victor Nikiforov’s near-unreachable back, to skate on the same ice, perhaps even to stand on the same podium. 

“Mmm, Yuri,” Victor stirs in his lap, before muttering something in muffled Russian. His tight grip on Yuri’s wrist loosens a little, long fingers slowly trailing down to tangle carelessly with Yuri’s. Faintly, Yuri can make out the stuttering pulsepoint of Victor’s heartbeat threading through their twined fingers, in counterpoint to the steady beat thrumming in Yuri’s chest. 

This time, this year, Victor is here, in Yuri’s grasp. He tightens his fingers and does not let go.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] small moments, small things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8731504) by [Hananobira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hananobira/pseuds/Hananobira)




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